


Where There's Life, There's a Will

by AHandWriter



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: F/M, I don't usually do romance, It's their supports but as a narrative, Lampshade Hanging, Part serious for the philosophical stuff, Rare Pairings, S-Support (Fire Emblem), Spoilers (?) if you didn't do SpotPass for FE Awakening, The horse gets it before they really do, They're kind of opposite of each other but what the heck, actually wrote this fic in 2018, equals this pairing, part nonserious for the other stuff, that's pretty much what it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2020-03-13 12:11:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18940681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AHandWriter/pseuds/AHandWriter
Summary: Based on Walhart and Female!Robin's Support conversations. Pretty much what it says on the tin.





	1. C-Support: Unafraid

As the night went on, much of the activity and noise in the Shepherds' camp dwindled as each of its members prepared to either go to sleep or stay up for guard duty. One of them, however, did not return toward her tent nor walk to the camp's borders to begin a routine night patrol and instead made her way to a tent situated a little bit farther from the others.

The person the young tactician was looking for was a bit of a loner, and despite lending his usefulness to the Shepherds' cause in the war against Grima, the fell dragon, nobody wanted to interact with him because of his history, which meant all the more reason for the other Shepherds to be wary of him. In return, he didn't interact with the others and mostly kept to himself, whether in or out of battle. After all, he didn't need their aid: he can take care of himself and any pathetic enemies that crossed their path.

She stopped in front of a red tent and sighed. Perhaps this was a terrible idea. What good would it do to talk to a grumpy old man like him anyway? He'd probably turn her away just like he did with the other Shepherds…

… No. Wait.

She took a deep breath and looked inside, and found a large silhouette sitting on a bed. She had already gotten this far after she vowed to herself that she wouldn't be like the others, who either walked away from his immediate presence out of fear or contempt. Most avoided talking to him, though on the few occasions where they did interact, the conversational pattern was the same: brief and rather blunt.

Maybe she was just as stubborn as he was. She went inside, a lone lantern illuminating the otherwise dim room.

"Ah, Walhart. So this is where you've been hiding," Robin said. The figure did not stir at the mention of the name, nor did he give her any acknowledging gesture.

She took in his living quarters. A dark red color permeated much of the room, from the bed to the ceiling. Near where he sat was a red banner emblazoned with a black rearing lion—the symbol of the emperor of Valm. Underneath it stood a table occupied by a few books, accompanied with a large, sturdy chair. Even the large suit of armor that stood by him, which has often been likened to an overgrown lobster, was in the same shade of red as the rest of the room.

Robin walked toward him. "I was actually hoping to ask for your advice. Is now a good time?"

Walhart raised his head.

"Groveling ill suits you. Remember that you are my superior in this army." He kept his back to her, not even bothering to turn and look at her as she approached him. "Now state your business, tactician. What advice do you seek?"

Robin stopped by his side and let out a small gasp. He looked… different, at the very least. For one, he wasn't in his armor: gone was the familiar unforgiving warrior she often saw charging down the battlefield on his equally intimidating horse. The clothes he now wore reminded Robin of the archer Virion, albeit without the special archery equipment and with red where Virion's blue would be. Even his shoulder-length mane of white hair was in a state of disarray. He seemed smaller somehow, despite his large muscular physique.

"We're expecting tough battles ahead, as you know," she said, recovering from her surprise. "So I was wondering what your approach would be if you were in charge."

He sighed, then laughed drily. Robin was asking _him_ for military tactics? The great tactician, asking _him_ of all people for ideas on winning upcoming battles? It was absurd. "I cannot help you in this. I had little need for battle plans and plots. Little need for the cunning trickery of the tactician… I won battles on the mettle of my soldiers and the strength of our beliefs."

"So you rejected strategy entirely?"

Walhart suddenly stood up from the bed, and Robin stumbled backward onto the nearby chair. Even without his armor, his presence alone was enough to intimidate others and give him their full attention.  _I don't think anyone will ever get used to that_ , she thought.

"I was the Conqueror! Master of all men. My domain stretched from sea to sea!" Walhart said. "I held no disdain for your strategy. I simply had no need of it."

"So all was decided on the battlefield? Man-to-man and steel to steel?" Robin asked, her eyes unwavering.

"Yes," he admitted. She gave him an understanding nod, having remembered the way his army fought during the Ylissean campaign in Valm; much of their strategy involved charging toward the enemy with nothing but their determination and loyalty to their emperor to fuel their fighting spirits. She had to give them credit for having those qualities, despite the risk of being perceived as reckless soldiers on the battlefield. Even their leader had a certain fire within him, though it was one that burned with a cruel and powerful flame.

"But clearly mine was the wrong way. For it is I who stand here as your servant—I who am tarred forever with the ignominy and shame of ultimate defeat." He turned away to avoid her gaze, although Robin swore she saw an unfamiliar expression flash across his face. Was it regret? Shame? Embarrassment? She couldn't tell. And why would he consider himself her servant? The man she knew would never humble himself to such a position; Walhart was too full of pride to call himself that. How odd, yet amusing for the former Conqueror to declare himself such a thing!

"Though we question your motives, there is no shame in losing a war," she said, a small smile forming upon her face. "You fought bravely and well. Nobody thinks less of you in defeat."

"Fool! Of course they do! They think me weak, and they are correct. If a man demands respect at the end of a sword, he has none left when it shatters."

"Walhart, you lost a single battle. That hardly makes you weak."

He sighed, knowing she has defeated him once again. "It does in my world," he said, slumping onto his bed. "But I know that Chrom believes differently, and he is the victor. The vanquished have no right to their own convictions—they must follow their masters."

"But it's a healthy thing to have a mix of different beliefs, new ways of doing things…" She sat next to him, then looked up to his face. "Even if we don't agree with them, learning about other ideas only makes us stronger."

She placed a hand onto one of his and felt rough skin. "You must promise not to forsake your views," she said, ignoring the sudden stiffening of his muscles. "I could learn something from your ways."

"You speak as a child that has captured a particularly interesting insect…" he said as he wrenched his hand from hers, then looked away. "But no matter. I shall indulge your whim. There are worse ways to pass the time."

A silence fell between them. Then after what seemed like an eternity, he heard her leave, her footsteps growing softer as she headed out into the night.

Good riddance _._ He thought she'd never leave him be, what with her chattering about having different views and learning from them. If that was her attempt to change him, then it was pathetic. He didn't need anyone's help, _especially_ from her. Yet he couldn't help but sense that there was something about her that set her apart from the rest.


	2. B-Support: On Musings and Words

After Robin had her fill of breakfast, she stood up and began walking toward the entrance of the mess tent. The other Shepherds looked up from their meals; this was certainly unusual.

"I just need to read up on tactics, that's all," she said as she stopped by the tent flaps, earning her a few confused stares. She usually spared a few minutes chatting with her fellow soldiers at the table before she went to do anything else, making it odd for them to see her leave so quickly just to come up with strategies for the next battle and make a few preparations, although most didn't pursue the matter any further and shrugged it off.

Outside, she could hear some of them murmuring among themselves, trading theories as to what could possibly require her immediate attention. Perhaps she was just going over what they needed to do before the inevitable battle against Grima. For the past few days, the Shepherds have done nothing else but train, accept any new and able recruits into the army, and fight the seemingly never-ending Risen hordes that constantly appeared in different locations. Despite some complaints, it was necessary for everyone to prepare themselves for anything, lest they face a horrible death at the hands of the Grimleal fanatics and Grima. Any moment could be their last.

It was early in the morning, with the sun still well out of sight. Much of the sky was a dark blue, with a sliver of orange and yellow lining the distant horizon above the grassy field where the army set up camp. But Robin took little notice of the twilight glow, for something else held far more interest to her. Something that has been on her mind for days.

What was it that made him so interesting? It was certainly not his appearance; she wasn't the kind to be easily swayed just by the way someone looked, even though she has admitted that several people in the army were good-looking.

But superficial appearances alone cannot account for one's entire character.

He was by himself again, although this time he was keeping watch over his horse as it grazed. The large seal brown stallion's ears flicked to her direction as she walked through the grass, then raised its head toward her, gesturing to its master that he had a visitor.

"There you are, Walhart," she said. "I was hoping we might talk more."

He turned to her, taking his watchful gaze off the horse, who then walked away from the two humans to find another patch of grass to feed on. "Come again to shake the jar of your captive insect, have you?"

Robin shrugged. "Your words, not mine. I'm simply hoping you can tell me more about your views."

He sighed. What does she want this time? "I don't know what fascination they hold, but you should remember this… Chrom was the victor, and together you have the power to vanquish all. You don't need the delusions of the defeated to make you stronger."

"That's where you're wrong, Walhart," she said. "It was a miracle that we prevailed. The slightest nudge of the scales, and the outcome would've been far different."

"Pah! There's no such thing as miracles," Walhart said, looking away. Now _she_ was the one under a delusion. "You won by cunning and might alone. And I lost because of my own weakness. A weakness exposed by you!"

Even as his voice transformed into a yell, Robin kept a straight face, unfazed by his claims. She stepped in front of him and folded her arms. "So you believe all victors to be powerful, and all defeated weak. Is this accurate?"

"You have the right of it," he answered.

She nodded. "Furthermore, you assert that the weak are obliged to obey the powerful. Is this so?"

"That, too, is my belief." Because that was how the world operated: if one did not have the strength to defend themselves they will be abandoned by others, or worse, killed off. Those who wielded sufficient power, on the other hand, were more likely to be leaders, who would then use that power in battles, on the field or otherwise, to claim victories and reinforce their rule.

"Then change it."

He looked hard at her, for this was an answer that he did not expect. "… Explain."

"Where there's life, there's a will. And where there's will, there is the power to change," Robin said, unfolding her arms and walking to his side. She looked up at him. "And that is what I want you to do."

"Your words are wind," Walhart said. "They mean nothing." If this was yet another one of her pathetic attempts to change him again—

"To live is to make mistakes," Robin explained as her eyes turned toward the distance where Walhart's horse grazed. "We've all sipped the bitter cup of defeat, but we live to drink another day. What matters is not how often we fail, but what we learn from those failures."

"Learn from FAILURE? The very idea…" A brief chuckle escaped him, for she had just described a ridiculous, impossible task, one that he knew he could not successfully accomplish. He decided to humor her. "Yet, as it comes from my victorious rival, I am obliged to consider it. Very well, tactician. I shall meditate upon your words, and we will speak again."

She looked at him again and smiled. "That's all I ask," Robin said. She walked away to her tent, leaving him to resume his watch on his horse once again.

The sun had already risen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcanon: Stalwart Comrade (yep, that's the name I decided for Walhart's horse) snarks at many things. It's probably a good thing that he's a horse so no one can tell.
> 
> *When Robin first walks over to the field: "Oh, look master. Your girlfriend's here."  
> *When walking away from Walhart and Robin to find another patch of grass to feed: "I will just leave you two to your strange human courtship rituals."


	3. A-Support: Reading Between the Lines

It seemed months have already passed since their last personal meeting, excluding the times when they fought side by side against their enemies. What certainly happened during this time, however, were a few major events that included a recent addition to the army in the form of a man who claimed to be a descendant of a legendary hero from another world. But other than these interesting tidbits of news, life in the Shepherds' camp remained the same.

Noon was one of the warmest times of the day, as well as one of its busiest. A few fresh recruits were working on training dummies to strengthen their sword arms, while others practiced shooting arrows toward their targets. Chrom was in his tent with his wife Olivia, discussing something about their future children Lucina and Inigo, before the subject turned to how the Shepherds were going to defeat the fell dragon. It seemed everyone was going through their own personal routines as usual.

But Walhart couldn't care less to any of these little happenings as he walked back toward his tent.

That is, until he passed by hers.

A groan. Whatever was the matter now? As much as he wanted to ignore it because it wasn't his business, _something_ compelled him to investigate and deal with the situation, and he pulled open the flaps of her tent.

"Robin. What are you doing here?"

"It's time I sorted my old tomes, so I've unpacked the entire library," she said, her back toward him as she took something out of a large brown trunk. Stacks and piles of books were everywhere, littering her living space, with titles and authors Walhart didn't recognize or care—not that he was averse to reading or that he was stupid, but he simply didn't have the time to do many idle activities when he had to deal with far more important things.

"I didn't realize how many books I've collected!" she said as she climbed onto a step stool near a shelf, her hands full and her legs trembling. "Goodness me. Maybe I… shouldn't have… picked up so many… S-starting to… lose… balance!"

On instinct, Robin's eyes quickly shut.

But the moment she expected to feel pain all over her body never came, nor did she hear the characteristic thuds of books hitting the floor.

" … Idiocy. Here."

_Thank the gods._ She opened her eyes again. At least the books were still in her arms. _Wait, something's wrong here_. "Walhart? What are you doing?" she asked.

"You were struggling under the load," he replied. "I decided to assist."

"Riiight." Her eyes narrowed as she noticed his hands by her sides. "But you're holding me, not the books… ?"

"It seemed the quickest way to help. But if it displeases you…" He released her, then took some of the books off the stack in her arms and placed them on the shelf. "… There. Safely on your own two feet again."

She coughed, having inhaled a bit of dust from the covers. "Er, thank you," she said, following suit.

"Why do you carry your own tomes?" he asked her as he walked to her bed, picking up one of the books and skimming through it. "Surely such menial work could be assigned to the grunts. Or prisoners of war."

She sighed and gave herself a mental facepalm. "We do NOT enslave prisoners of war in this army, Walhart! And for that matter, we don't refer to any of our soldiers as 'grunts.' Everyone is on equal terms here. Menial tasks are shared by all."

He rolled his eyes. "Why am I not surprised at such a sickening display of misguided democracy? Very well, then. ORDER me to carry your books."

Wait, what? "Er… I don't think I'm comfortable with that."

He put the book down. "You are an army of equals, yes? Menial tasks are shared by all? Then even the great Walhart should not be above such things! Or do you just pay lip service to 'equality' while the hierarchy is alive and well?"

She sighed again. Why must he be so difficult? "Fine. You win. … Walhart, I order you to carry my books."

"Gladly." He grabbed the brown trunk, then lifted it with ease, despite it containing a few more books that Robin hadn't yet retrieved. "Hmm? This trunk is hardly heavy at all! Bah. The tactician who brought down my army has the strength of a mewling kitten!" he said, ending his remark with a brief laugh. "'Tis amusing to think such a brilliant warmonger can barely lift a box of papers," he muttered.

"It wasn't me who brought you down. It was the combined strength of our army. Measured one against one, I'd barely come up to your ankle," Robin said while picking up a pile from the floor. "Figuratively speaking," she added, arranging the books onto the shelf.

"Yet you have the power to marshal the collective strength of your fellow men," Walhart said. "The people of this world could do far worse than to have you as supreme ruler. I wager you could bring the prosperity and peace they've long yearned for."

"I didn't realize you cared so much about the lives of the smallfolk."

He set the trunk down on a relatively empty corner of the room and looked at her. "It was my methods that were wrong, not my motives."

Robin paused, her gaze meeting his.

"It all fell apart once I began to worship might for its own sake. That wicked Grimleal fanatic whispering lies in my ear didn't help matters… The responsibility was all mine, but I can't help but think… What if I'd met you instead of Excellus? Perhaps I'd have seen the error of my ways. Perhaps I'd have become the benevolent monarch I first set out to be…"

A little smile appeared on her face. Were those words really coming from him? If so… "It's not too late," she said. "You still have the power to put things right. To improve the lives of all."

"I can scarce believe such folly," he said, letting out a dry laugh.

She walked off the step stool and stopped in front of him. "Remember what I told you before? Where there's life, there's a will. And where there's will, there is the power to change."

A silence lingered between them, and then he spoke. "Very well. As you have spoken truth to me before, I shall trust you and your words."

Robin chuckled. "It's all true. You'll see…"

He turned away to go outside, leaving her alone with her vast collection of books. But as she busied herself by sorting and arranging her tomes, she swore to herself that she had seen him crack a gentle smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Some spoilers for Paralogue 23: The Radiant Hero, 'cause Priam is sort of mentioned at the beginning of this one.


	4. S-Support: To Make of This Reality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rather cheesy title is cheesy. But I like cheese, so... (CHEESE! FOR EVERYONE!)

A cool breeze rushed past him as he walked through their camp, ruffling his hair. For the few Shepherds that were still outside of their tents on this night, it was a rare sight to find him walking about here. They stopped and watched him pass by, though none of them dared to confront and ask him what he was doing—he still had that certain presence, for a lack of a better word. And so they wondered to themselves: what could possibly bring him here, when he had always pushed them away? Yet any attempt to answer this question was further complicated when they considered his curious behavior for the past few months, from his increased appearances in the middle of their camp instead of being alone in his own tent farther away, to frequently accompanying their tactician during battles. What was also particularly noteworthy were his rumored private meetings with her, though they could only guess as to what they were about, for none of them had ever caught a clear glimpse or even a word.

Walhart ignored them as he continued toward Robin's tent. But what he couldn't ignore was the feeling that had been stirring within him for a while, one that nagged him throughout the day like a persistent fly on a horse's back. As he paused in front of her tent, he felt sweat form on his palms.

It was something that never occurred to him before, at least in his current state.

He heaved a heavy sigh to calm himself, then pulled open the flaps to reveal Robin sitting on her bed with a thick book nestled in her hands. She was completely absorbed in it, but at least she didn't seem to be very busy at the moment. He cleared his throat to get her attention. "Ah, here you are," he said.

She looked up from her reading to see his large figure standing outside of her tent. "Walhart. What can I do for you?" she asked him.

He stepped inside, casting a towering shadow in her well-lit tent. In another time, it would have easily caused someone to shrink in fear. But tonight, it seemed… different, almost comforting. She blinked a few times. Perhaps it was just her tired brain perceiving things; she had been reading this book for a long time into the night, after all.

"It's about what you said the other day," Walhart replied, breaking her from her trance. "About life and will… and power to change."

"Yes, I remember," she said.

"I've been thinking about how I might change," he said, moving to sit on a sturdy chair near her desk. "About how I SHOULD change," he added, resting his hands on the desk's surface.

She leaned forward, now that she was all ears. It seemed that things just got a little bit more interesting. "Go on…"

He stared at his palms. To his annoyance, they still had that odd dampness on them, and he clenched his hands into fists. "Since you and Chrom defeated me, I've learned a great deal. For example, about Emmeryn's vision for the world… It is a vision I would very much like to see come true."

"That is… very surprising."

He sighed. "I don't know rightly if this is what you meant by 'change.' But I know what my mission is now," he said, turning to look at Robin. "I'm going to work for a future where Emmeryn's dream is a reality."

She nodded and gave him a small smile. "Why, that's wonderful, Walhart! It truly is."

"Then I know it is the right decision," he said, relaxing his hands.

She chuckled. "You know Walhart, you used to be so intimidating and angry, but now look at you!"

"Yes, I did come across that way…" he admitted, his eyes shifting away to look at her bookshelf.

"Beneath all the bluster and menace, you have… dare I say it? A soft heart? … Even as you were setting out on a path of conquest and subjugation." Robin shrugged, though she was being sincere. It was true that what Walhart had done in the past was considered questionable at best, and downright cruel at worst, yet the man before her was neither of those things at the moment.

"I sought to unite the world under my rule and thereby foster peace and happiness. But I chose the wrong path—one which led only to destruction and despair."

"So start anew," she said. He looked at her again, bemused at her suggestion. "Take what you've learned, and try again, but do it differently. Your goal hasn't changed. You just need to follow a new road to reach it."

"Where there's life, there's a will. And where there's a will…"

"Exactly!" she said, beaming at him.

He took a deep breath and put his elbows on the desk, resting his head on his hands. He stared at its unremarkable worn surface. A heavy pause has made its presence known in the room, and with it several minutes went by with nary a word between them.

Until he spoke again. "When I walk this new road, I would have you at my side to lend me strength."

Robin's smile disappeared, and she looked hard at him. "You mean… as a tactician?" she asked, a hint of wariness creeping into her voice. She couldn't just leave Chrom and the rest of his army to join him; besides, what was the point of him needing her talents, ever since he had long lost the motivation to conquer Ylisse? Unless there was another reason…

"No," he said firmly. She cocked her head and raised her eyebrows. What else did he need to say to her? He remembered when he was recruited by the Shepherds and the first time he personally met her. He remembered the battles they fought together, as well as a few important conversations they had together. Had she noticed them as well?

"As a partner in life." Now he had already passed a point of no return, and the only available option was forward. As he let the moment linger in the air, Robin raised a shaky hand over her mouth. No. No, no. Oh gods, was he actually—

"… As my wife."

Time stopped. The book on her lap slid and landed on the floor with a dull thud as she stood from her bed, though she never noticed it.

"Your wife?!" Never in a thousand years had she imagined to grow close to him, let alone become his wife. The situation reminded her of a bizarre myth from one of the books in her collection, and she could already list the problems: he was the former Valmese Conqueror, she was the human vessel of Grima, then there was the age difference, the size difference—

"It can only be you. You must guide me on this new road, lest I stray from it again. And, more importantly, I've grown…" He paused, his face becoming warm as his eyes wandered toward the ceiling, searching for words. "Very fond of you."

"Oh," she replied simply, her brain having shut down from what she had just heard. Wait, really? Did he mean to… actually say—

While Robin mouthed words behind her hand in stunned amazement, Walhart stood from his chair and walked toward the tent flaps, pulling them open as he prepared to go outside. "You do not have to give me an answer right away. Think upon it. I'm willing to wait for as long as it takes."

"Actually, I don't need any time at all," she mumbled, her eyes tightly closed and her hand spread out in an attempt to cover her increasingly red cheeks—oh gods! It was as if the air was on fire!

He stopped, his head over his shoulder. She removed her trembling hand and swallowed hard. "We can walk that road together," she said, her voice almost at a whisper. There was a long pause, and a certain awkwardness reigned as the two stood and stared at each other. _Gods, this was embarrassing_ , she thought.

Then Walhart chuckled. She blinked, and his familiar frown melted into a smile. A genuine one, at that, because of his eyes. "Then the future is bright, indeed," he said. "For both of us, and all the world!" He let go of the tent flaps and offered her a hand. "With you at my side, the path to glory shall be an easier one. Let us become as gods of strength and happiness!"

Robin began to laugh as well. Seizing the opportunity as he stood in confusion, she ran and tried to wrap her arms around him, without much success—it was difficult when the one being hugged had a large, thick wall for a chest. He put his hands on her waist.

It was she who conquered him, that was for certain. Fraternizing with a former enemy be damned—what the others will say hardly mattered to her right now, even more so for him. If anyone dared to interfere with them, then they could simply deflect them away; they were strong and capable enough to handle any fight, not just the ones on the battlefield. The so-called invisible ties only strengthened because they have decided to trust each other, both wittingly and unwittingly. Sure, she trusted the other members of the army, since it was key in accomplishing their goals. But trusting someone, a particular individual out of many, at a very personal level? On top of that individual having made major mistakes that were more likely to turn others away? It was something new—but then again, she saw the _new_ to be a learning opportunity, and she knew to consider them before ever turning them down.

They let go of each other, and she watched him leave within the safety of her tent.

As Walhart made his way to the far side of the camp, he stopped to observe the moon and the stars. But as bright as they were on this clear night, they had failed to impress him—a first. He sighed, then turned to continue walking toward his tent. A light cool breeze rushed past his face, though oddly enough, he remained warm. Rather than ignoring it, he smiled. At least he knew why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Actually named after some of the lyrics of Steve Conte's "Living Inside the Shell," so... yeah?


End file.
